


End Times

by Mira



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-06
Updated: 2010-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-05 22:22:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira/pseuds/Mira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Multiple pairings of the Fellowship. Character death.</p>
    </blockquote>





	End Times

**Author's Note:**

> Multiple pairings of the Fellowship. Character death.

End Times: Long Wait

"Been a long time," Dom observed.

Billy shrugged, but didn't look up from his cup of coffee.

Dom remained standing until, still not looking up, Billy gestured with his cup. "Sit."

Dom sat. A waiter hurried to his side. "Coffee?" Dom nodded. They sat in silence while a setting was arranged in front of Dom, the coffee poured, milk offered; then suddenly they were alone. Dom stirred his coffee, the spoon clicking against the china. Billy's eyes flickered, but he didn't speak.

The club was quiet this early. It was unlike Dom to be up at this hour and he couldn't help but cast his mind back to their days in New Zealand, so many decades ago. He'd never enjoyed early hours, but that time had been blessed. A sunrise every day, Elijah had said, spreading his arms in pleasure. But he was gone now, too soon, too soon. Dom sighed.

Bars of early sunlight angled across the polished wood floor, and tiny jets of water sprayed the potted plants lining the windows. A very nice place; Andy had told him he'd like it, and he'd been right. The coffee was excellent, but that was to be expected. He took another sip and set down the cup with care.

Crossing his legs, he folded his hands over his knee and waited. Though it had been years since he'd seen Billy, he knew him well, as well as he'd ever known another human being. Billy was not a patient man, and his energy would demand an outlet sooner than later.

Finally, Billy sighed and pushed away the newspaper and coffee. He sighed again, and raised his eyes to Dom. Dom smiled. Billy blushed.

"Would you like more coffee?" Dom asked solicitously.

"You probably paid Philip a few quid to stay away."

Dom grinned at that. "Damn. A few quid would have worked? I paid too much for my time with you, Bill."

Billy's faint smile faded, and he looked down. "Long time," he murmured.

Dom's smile left him. "Billy," he said, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward. "Please. Let me talk to you. Don't be -- don't be Sir William to me."

"Is that who I've been? Sorry, lad."

"Bill. Christ, Billy, at least fucking look at me." Billy raised his eyes again, and Dom swallowed at the dark hiding in them. "It has been a long time. And I'm sorry for that."

Billy nodded. "All's forgiven. Not to worry."

"If you fuckin' call me 'dear boy,' I'll fucking shove that newspaper down your gob."

"I'm not Sir Ian."

"Yeah, well, good you know it. Cause you're not. You're still my Bills, no matter how many honours and titles and whatnot you can claim."

"Your Bills?" Billy raised his eyebrows.

Dom sat up straighter. "Yours. Whether you like it or not."

"I thought -- " Billy coughed a little, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He sighed again, and Dom watched as the old Billy came back. Leaning across the table, he said, "Dominic Monaghan, I loved you more than I knew one person could love another. And what the fuck did you do?"

Dom licked his lips. "I, I couldn't love you back. Not the way you wanted." He thought about saying "not like that," but the joke was too painful to be funny. "I loved you, though. I love you still."

"Why the fuck are you here?" Dom could barely hear Billy's whisper.

"Because everyone's gone. We're alone. And I know -- I know what I want now. Who I want."

"Does what I want factor into this?"

"Andy said --"

"Fuck Andy," Billy enunciated clearly. "Andy's dead, too, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Jesus, of course I had. Fuck, Bill, that's my point. Andy called me, to his death bed for Christ's sake, and he fucking laid one on me. He made me swear." He stopped abruptly, and took a sip of coffee before looking at Billy again. "He made me swear to go to you."

"Well, you've fulfilled your promise. I release you from any further obligation."

"Billy." Dom was embarrassed at the passion in his voice. He rubbed his face and sniffed. "Forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive. And if there was, I forgive it. You."

"No, really. No fucking around." He stretched across the table, shuffling aside the flower arrangement separating them, and took Billy's cold hand. "Come home with me. There's not much time left. It's just us. Just us. Our wives are gone, your Ted -- Andy told me he died a while ago. Our kids are grown and gone with kids of their own. There's no one left but us." The words poured out of him, words that had been sealed in his heart for decades. "I made a fucking mistake, Billy. You know that, you knew it at the time but you let me go, and it was good, we had good times, but always always I thought of you. All my wives knew." He had to dab at his eyes at that, remembering all the arguments and at least one slap across his face. "I never forgot.

"I made a mistake, Bill. I can't regret my life, because I have the children and grandchildren, and they're blessings, every last one of them, even that hellion Patrick, but I regret hurting you, and I regret all the years we lost. We could've been together. The things we could've done.

"I was an arsehole, Bill, but please don't punish me anymore. Our time is almost up. Please, please, Bill. Come home with me."

He stopped, gasping, wishing he'd given up smoking a few decades earlier. His face felt hot and his vision a bit blurry; he blinked to be better able to see Billy, studying him over the table cloth, hand limply in Dom's.

For long minutes they sat there. Dom heard the little water jets shut off, and the drop of water from leaf to mossy potting soil. Dust rose in the pale sunlight, and the scent of coffee filled the air. Billy's hand was cool and motionless beneath his; he stroked it lightly, wanting to twine his fingers with Billy's.

At last, Billy stirred, but left his hand beneath Dom's. "There was a time I would have done anything to hear you say those words," he said softly. Dom leaned over further. "You broke my heart, you know."

Tears came to Dom's eyes. He did know. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so ashamed."

Billy shook his head. "No, no. I know you were doing the best you could. It was all you had in you at the time. And you're right not to regret the children. I couldn't have given you them." He flashed a quick smile at Dom, but it lasted only an instant. "And I got over it. I found others who loved me. I had a good life, Dom. You must know that."

Dom nodded, and gently pressed Billy's hand.

"I won't go home with you," he said, and Dom gasped in pain, reaching out with both hands to clutch at Billy. "No, wait, listen to me. I won't come home with you -- not just yet. It's been a long time, a terrible long time. I'm a bit set in my ways, ya know, and I reckon you are, too. But I don't want to lose you again. Not again."

Dom rose and carefully moved his chair around the table so he could sit next to Billy. He put his arms around him, and rested his head on Billy's sharp shoulder. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Ah, Dom, Dommie. Thank you. I am so alone these days. When Andy died --" Billy stopped, his voice breaking. He took a deep breath and continued. "When Andy died, I thought, well, that's it. Everyone from my past is gone. Men and women, all have left me."

"Not me," Dom said, lifting his head. Billy turned to look him in the eye. "Not me, Bill. I'm here. I won't go. You can't send me away, I won't do it. I'm right here. I'll, I dunno, I'll move in next door to ya. Play my telly too loud so ya have to come over to whinge about it, yeah?"

For the first time, Billy smiled at Dom, really smiled. "Did you really pay them to stay away this long?"

"For hours and hours. Not to be disturbed on pain of death."

"So we're alone?"

Dom nodded. He studied Billy's face, so dear and so familiar, even now, with age spots dotting his high forehead and temples, the wisps of reddish grey hair, the deep wrinkles around his eyes, the tender skin showing patches of grey stubble glinting in the morning light. His sharp nose, and bow-shaped mouth, with the filtrum Dom still loved. Daringly, he raised a hand to cup Billy's jaw, and felt a smile curve his mouth. "I want to kiss you," he breathed.

Billy trembled in his hand, and swallowed hard. Then he leaned forward a tiny bit, a clear invitation, and parted his lips. Dom lowered his head slightly and pressed his own lips against Billy's, a dry, chaste kiss that made his shiver with pleasure and apprehension.

When they parted, Billy was smiling. "I quite liked that," he admitted.

"Me, too," Dom said, and kissed him again, quickly. "If you won't come home with me, Bill, can I come home with you?"

"It's no happily-ever-after," Billy warned. "I'm as impotent as a gelding, I still fart like a carthorse, and I sound like a walrus when I'm blowing my nose in the morning."

"Same old Bills," Dom said happily. "I'm not much better than you, but I reckon we can still have a bit of slap and tickle, even at our advanced ages."

"The kissin' was good," Billy said, nodding.

"The kissin' was fuckin' _brilliant_," Dom corrected him. "There's still life in us old boys yet."

"Maybe. Maybe," Billy said. He leaned against Dom, who held him even tighter.

"If this isn't happily ever after," Dom whispered, shivering with delight, "then I want to know what is."

Billy only smiled.

~ ~ ~

End Times: Long Expected

Rumour had it that Orlando was with Kate. Rumour had it that Orlando was with Viggo. Rumour had it that Orlando was with Samantha. Rumour had it that Orlando was with Colin. Rumour twined around Orlando like ivy around an aspen. Rumour was usually wrong.

When Sean finally knocked on the door in Belgravia, he was surprised that Orlando opened the door himself. He was surprised even further by the grey in Orlando's thinning hair, and how frail Orlando looked in his loose kaftan. "Sean?" Orlando said hesitantly.

"Yeah, mate, it's me," he said. He moved forward and then jerked back, unsure of his welcome. "Sorry to barge in on ya."

"No, no," Orlando said, and reached toward Sean. "Come in, my God, Sean Bean, wow, it's just, it's been so long, I can't believe -- Come in." He shyly touched Sean's arm, not grasping it, but Sean followed his touch and followed Orlando as he backed into the house. He looked around curiously; it was the first time he'd been here. The hall at least was sparsely decorated: pale wooden floors, off-white walls, no paintings or photos in evidence.

The hall ended in a T; Orlando turned left, down another long hallway. Puzzled, Sean continued to follow him, wondering at the silence. He glanced behind him and saw what might be a kitchen. Then Orlando slowed. "He's in here," he whispered. "Don't be -- he's really changed, Sean."

Sean shook his head. "Orlando, wait. Just wait. I came to see you. I, is there some place we can talk? This is important, and I came a long way. Hella long, as my girls used to say."

Orlando's frowned. "Me? But -- Well, yeah, sure, I just. Yeah. Um." He glanced around. "In here. You can stay here if you like."

Orlando pushed open the door and they walked into a good-sized bedroom, also sparsely furnished. The bed was low, on a wooden frame, and there were two tall lamps on either side, both with rice paper shades. There was no place to sit but on the bed, so Sean did, awkwardly. After a moment, Orlando sat also, at one end, angling himself toward Sean.

Sean found Orlando's silence almost uncanny. The boy who never shut up, he'd jokingly called him more than once, not meaning to hurt Orlando's feelings, but really, he could rattle on. But this Orlando was older, quieter, and calmer, too. He looked steadily at Sean, though his fingers twitched in his lap.

"Dunno if you heard, but Soph passed. Few months ago. Seven, actually." Sean scratched his jaw. "Miss her somethin' fierce. She was a good 'un."

Orlando's eyebrows drew together. "I'm sorry. I hadn't heard. With -- well, with everything. I'm sorry, Sean. I know you loved her." He smiled suddenly, and the younger Orlando looked out at Sean. "Brilliant party you had."

"Yeah, it was." Sean nodded, smiling. Took long enough, but Soph had been worth the wait. A treasure, he thought to himself. "She was very fond of you, ya know." Orlando smile grew broader, and his face turned pink. "Yeah, she knew, well. Everything. And I. She made me promise." He took a deep breath. "Orlando. Listen. I don't know if, ah, well. Shit." He took one of Orlando's twitching hands into his own and stared into it. Orlando was a pale smooth brown, a lovely colour, Sean thought. A warm colour. "Soph said I'd need someone; she knew I couldn't be alone. And she knew I loved you. Love you." He felt his face go hot at those words, and couldn't risk looking at Orlando. "So she sent me here. And I'm here. Orlando, I'm an old fart now, and it's been so long, but I was hopin', ya know, maybe. Maybe it's not too late. Even now."

Orlando remained silent, and Sean reminded himself that this was not the lad he'd first met decades ago in New Zealand, nor the A-list star he read about in the papers; he wasn't even the elegant man who'd attended his and Soph's wedding a dozen years ago. He raised his head and looked at Orlando, at this Orlando, and saw a man moving out of middle age. Thin, with sharp cheekbones and thin lips, with grey streaking his hair and even the narrow mustache he wore. A man who gazed back at him with confidence and an air of quiet compassion.

"I would love that," Orlando said simply, and Sean heaved an enormous sigh. "And I want you to stay here. For as long as you want, forever, because, yeah, I remember, and I do love you, Sean, I always have. And Soph had called me when she was diagnosed; did she tell you? So I knew. I mean, I didn't know she was gone, but I knew that one day you'd be here.

"But something's happened, Sean." He squeezed Sean's hand, and moved so they were sitting side by side. "Something's happened. But you must understand that I want you." He tilted his head slightly, and his eyes dropped. Sean blushed; he knew that Orlando was looking at his mouth. Sean licked his lips and leaned forward slightly, hesitantly, but Orlando completed the movement and suddenly they were kissing, Orlando's lips cool and dry against his. He sighed again and relaxed into the kiss, feeling Orlando's arm come across his chest and grasp his shoulder, pulling Sean toward him.

This was not the Orlando of New Zealand. This was a man who knew how to speak with his body, and Sean began to believe that Soph had been right. That this is where he should have been all those years, only he'd been too bloody minded to let himself see. "Ah, fuck, Orlando," he murmured when they gently separated. "I never knew, ya see. I only hoped."

"I know. Soph told me, and I pretty much already knew. I'm dumb, but not that dumb."

"You're not dumb at all," Sean protested, feeling a rush to defend Orlando, but Orlando put his hand over Sean's lips.

"Not that dumb," he agreed, then slid his fingers aside and kissed Sean again.

"I'm so tired," Sean whispered to him. "I can't sleep alone, not anymore, and I miss Soph, and I didn't know what to do, if I should come --"

"Of course you should have. I'm glad you did. You'll stay, yeah? Promise?"

Sean felt himself blush again, but said, "Yeah. Yeah, I'll stay."

"Good." Orlando kissed him quickly, and then said, "But there's something you need to know. Remember, you promised. You won't go back on your promise, Sean. You can't. I need you here. I need you."

"What? Stop bein' so bloody mysterious, Orli. What is it?"

"I thought you knew. I didn't know about Soph, so when I saw you, I thought you'd come for him. It's okay if you do, I mean, I know you love him, we all do, but with Soph so ill, maybe you hadn't heard --"

"Orlando." Sean felt mildly exasperated but mostly apprehensive. "What is it? I promised; you can't frighten me away."

Now it was Orlando's turn to sigh heavily, and he rubbed his face, wiping under his eyes. "I'm so tired. He's good, he's so good, Sean, and I love him, but I'm so glad you're here." He rested his head on Sean's shoulder for a moment, before raising it again. Sean saw tears in Orlando's beautiful eyes. "It's Vig, Sean. He's -- it's not good. I know you just went through this with Soph, and I'm sorry, but you did come, and I need you. I." He stopped abruptly and looked at the door.

Vig. Viggo was here? "I don't understand," Sean said, but he was lying. He saw it all instantly: the quiet, spare house, Orlando's exhaustion, his relief.

"He's awake," Orlando said, and rose, pulling Sean up with him. "It's not good. He doesn't have much time left. I called Henry; he'll be here in a day or two, but so many of us are gone."

"Shh," Sean told him, and kissed his cheek. "I'm here now. I'll help. We'll take care of him."

Orlando hugged Sean fiercely, his breath hot on Sean's neck, and then he led the way to the first door they'd stopped at. "Ready?"

Sean nodded. He straightened his back, and took Orlando's hand, raising it to his mouth to kiss, but not letting go. He wouldn't let go, he decided. He wouldn't let Orlando go through this alone; he wouldn't let Viggo go without another friend at his side. He hung onto Orlando's hand as he gently opened the door. Pale light through a sheer white blind fell across the room, and he stepped into the light, drawing Orlando with him.

~ ~ ~

End Times: Long Silence

The fire blazed up as Viggo entered the room, throwing John into relief. They stared at each other across the room, and then John relaxed. "I wasn't sure you would come," he said, his voice still rich and booming. "Thank you."

"Course I'd come," Viggo said. He brought his hand up to run through his hair, but caught himself and dropped it back to cover his other hand holding the handle of his bag. "It's been a long time."

"A long time, and we were never that close. Our politics were too different."

"John, I would never --"

"No, no." He raised a hand, and Viggo saw how thin it was. "Of course not. We may disagree, but I know you are an honest man. I always believed in you, Viggo." He stared at Viggo, and then lowered his eyes. "I still do," he said softly.

Viggo nodded, not sure how to respond. He stood quietly, something he was good at, and waited for John to explain why he was here. The fire shifted again, shivering sparks into the air. A chilly breeze fluttered across Viggo's neck; he took a few steps toward the fire and settled there, waiting.

"Well," John finally said. "I would stand up and greet you like a man, but I find that almost beyond me these days, particularly late at night. I apologize."

"John --"

"No, it's all right. I'm all right. This chair lets me get around, but only downstairs, of course. I manage. Mrs. Graves from the village comes in during the day to cook, there's a nice girl in to clean, and Bob helps me in the house."

"Bob."

"Yes. He let you in. Bob?"

From the corner of his eye, Viggo caught a movement and turned quickly; the man who'd opened the door to him stepped into the room. "Sir?"

"Bob. Show Mr. Mortensen to his rooms, please. Viggo, I know it's late, but you'll have a drink with me when you've settled in?"

Viggo nodded and followed Bob out of the room, down a hallway, and up a long staircase. The steps were grey stone; granite, he recognized, and bowed with the heelprints of many people. Older than the house, he was sure, and would have stopped to examine them if Bob hadn't been hurrying him along.

At the top of the stairs, Bob led him to the right, down another hallway, and finally to a door. The bedroom within was large and sparsely furnished; everything looked very old and a bit shabby. He liked it. "Thank you," he murmured to Bob, who nodded and disappeared. Viggo set his bag on the bed and looked around. One wall was covered in heavy curtains; he walked to it and tried to lift them back. It was very dark outside, and the window panes were rippled, a pale green he couldn't see through at all.

Well, John was waiting, and Viggo had come a long way to see him. He might as well find out why he'd been summoned. He took off his heavy coat, tossing it over the bag, and headed back to John.

He took his time going down the stairs, kneeling in several places. The stone was still firm, not at all crumbly, but the depressions were well worn. He pressed his hand flat against the cold surface; an impression of enormous age washed into him. "The stone speaking," he whispered.

He heard a noise and looked up; Bob was standing at the foot of the stairs. "Um," Viggo said, and rose. Bob led him back to where John was waiting, now with a drink in his hand.

"Ah, here you are. Whisky? I think so." He poured another glass, generously, and handed it to Viggo who hurried to his side. "Please, sit." John wheeled himself nearer to an overstuffed sofa, so Viggo sat there. "You look very well."

"Thanks. You -- you've looked better."

John nodded. "I'm wearing out. Getting near my time. Wives are all gone; did you know that? I still can't believe I outlived them all." He stared into the fire. "Hard to be alone. For a man like me. I suppose you prefer it."

"No. Well, not always. But sometimes it's for the best."

"Ah, yes. For the best. The best is important to you."

Viggo stifled a sigh, sipping his whisky instead. "John, what is it? Why did you ask me here? Is there something I can do?"

John stared into the fire. "The work you've done -- everything. Your paintings, photography, poetry, acting, even your activism -- I respect it so much. You've lived your life. Now at the end of mine, I see a long line of beautiful cars and bad investments. The genetics company I purchased -- I had great hopes for it." He shook his head. "I don't know how to say this. Words were my life; what is an actor without words? But now, they fail me. They fail me," he repeated softly.

Viggo went to him and knelt, resting a hand on one of his bony knees. "John, you did fine work. The cars were beautiful; they're an art work in themselves. You raised a wonderful family. You lived an enormous life. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed," he said quickly, straightening up. "There's naught to be ashamed of." He sighed heavily, and slumped back into his chair. "The words escape me." He drained his whisky and handed the glass to Viggo. "Another wee dram, please."

Viggo obediently rose to fill the glass, and added a tot to his own. He thought this might prove to be a long night. "Here you go," he said, handing the whisky to John. "Cheers."

"Slainte." They drank, and John said, "Let me try again. Sit. Be comfortable."

Viggo sank down onto the sofa again; it was lumpy and less than comfortable, a bit like John, he thought. "Well, I'm here," he said, "to do your bidding."

"It was good of you to come all this way. Have you been here before?"

"No, never. I'm glad to see it. A beautiful place. You've lived here a long time, I think?"

"Yes, yes, many years. A tax break, at first, and the pubs never closing was a draw, too, I will admit. But later it became a home. My home."

"John --"

"Yes, I know. I'm sorry. Well, it's against my nature, but I'll come to the point. I'm dying, Viggo. You will be one of the last people to see me alive."

"John, look --"

"No, you look. Or rather, listen. I'm riddled with cancer. Disgusting to think about, really." He studied his hand. "I envision toxins flowing through my bloodstream. You're supposed to imagine, oh, I don't know, something attacking the cancer. But it's too late for that. Now I see only the cancer and the painkillers."

"John, shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why are you here, with no one around?"

"I told you. All my wives are gone. My children are grown up with grandchildren of their own. I've lived a long life. And it's been good, as you say. Very good indeed. And now it's over."

"John, I'm taking you to the hospital." He stood. "Where's Bob? Let's get you in the car."

"No, no." John rolled his chair back a few feet. "It's out of the question. I called you because I thought you, of all people, would understand. Would help." He gripped the arms of his wheelchair tightly. "Viggo, I want this to be -- I want this to be art."

"Jesus, John." Viggo began to pace, shaking his head. What was he to do? Was he supposed to kill John? Why wouldn't he go to a hospital? "What do you want me to do?"

"Help me. Help me do this gracefully. Viggo, there's no one else I would trust. No one. I've left letters for my children, everything is set with my lawyers and the money people. There are no loose threads to tie up, no one left to say goodbye to.. There is only the long night, the dying light, but I have no stomach to rage. I welcome the respite.

"Sit, please." Reluctantly, Viggo sat again, and let John take his hands. "Tell me what to do. How shall I leave this world? You're an artist I admire enormously, and this exit should be art. Teach me."

"I have nothing to teach you," Viggo said, speaking from his heart. "You're amazing, John. You --"

"I want it to be art!" John roared, shaking Viggo off to half rise from his chair and then fall awkwardly back into it. "My entire life should have been devoted to art, as yours has been. This is all I have left, Viggo. It is all I have. Help me."

Viggo stared at him, silent in the face of John's passion. "Art," he murmured. "How -- what can I do?"

"I can't tell you that," John said, swallowing his whisky. His voice was flat again, and he panted slightly. "It's why I asked you here." He looked up at Viggo, who saw again how thin he'd become, how drawn his features were, how sunken his eyes. "I turn to you now. It is time to go gentle into that good night. All fame is happy, even famous death. Viggo, come here." Viggo knelt before John, taking his hand again. "Listen to me. Few are made better by infirmity. It is almost too late for me. Help me make of this death a thing of such beauty that it will ring through the ages. Help me, Viggo."

Viggo shook his head, then rested it where their hands crossed on John's knee. "John, John," he whispered. They sat in silence for nearly a minute, and then John began to speak. His voice rumbled through Viggo; even in age and disease, his voice was still true.

"O dear my loves, O faithless, once again  
This one last gift I give: that after men  
Shall know, and later lovers, far-removed,  
Praise you, 'All these were lovely'; say, 'He loved.'"

Viggo rose and swiftly kissed John's mouth, the words still trembling on his lips. "He loved," Viggo whispered. "He loved."

~ ~ ~

End Times: Last Wish

"No, I'm sorry," Sean said, opening the door. "The car's already been sold."

Orlando stared at him. The house was built up, and he stood on the lowest step, so for a change he had to look up at Sean. Astin's hair was still thick and curly, though white as the summer-bleached sky above them. He wore glasses now; they were draped with a chain leading around the back of his neck that glittered in the brilliant sunshine.

Sean started to shut the door, so Orlando put out his hand. "Wait, please," he said, and Sean paused, staring at him.

"Orlando?"

"Yeah. It's me. I, it's not about the car, Sean."

"No, of course. Of course. Come in, Orli, Jesus, it's been forever. Come in." he held the door open wider. "Come in," he said again, closing the door behind Orlando. "Welcome."

Orlando continued to stare at Sean; he couldn't take his eyes off him. He was heavier, of course; they'd all known that Sean would grow into a heavy man, and he had. He wore his weight with dignity, though, and had a presence Orlando didn't remember from when they were younger.

Then he awkwardly held out his arms and Orlando could only smile with relief and step into them. "Sean," he whispered, and rested his head on Sean's shoulder.

"It's okay, Orli," Sean said softly, rubbing his back, pulling him tightly in. "It's okay."

"It isn't, you know," Orlando said, but he remained with Sean's arms. "It can't be, not for a little while."

Sean didn't respond, just continued to hold on, and Orlando let himself be held. He shut his eyes against the world and focused on the feel of Sean's light cotton shirt beneath his cheek, the neat collar tickling his nose, the smell of Sean's aftershave and shampoo and sweat, the sturdy reality of his body under Orlando's hands. For long minutes they stood, Orlando relaxing under Sean's soothing ministrations.

At last he lifted his head and leaned back. Sean hung onto him, though. "Thank you," he said.

"I can't believe you're here," Sean said. "I never -- I thought about calling you, but I didn't. Well. I just didn't. I'm sorry, Orlando. I'm so fucking sorry."

"Thank you," Orlando said, dropping his eyes. Sean's chest hair was grey now, too, he saw. He lightly touched Sean's chest, feeling the mat of hair beneath his shirt, and then tugged on the grey sprouting above the shirt collar. "Look at you," he said. "You're such a guy."

Sean laughed. "Damn. You finally figured it out."

Orlando smiled more. It felt so good to be here. "I knew I should come," he admitted. "I was afraid to, I was afraid you wouldn't want to see me, but I had to."

"Oh, God, Orli, yeah. Of course you did. I don't -- it doesn't matter."

"It does matter. It matters the world. But we both loved him. That's got to mean something."

Sean looked sadly at him, and Orlando was tempted to kiss him. But he bit his lip instead, and stroked Sean's chest again. "Do you still drink?" Sean asked. "Would you like something? A beer, maybe? Or tea?"

"Yeah, something, that'd be great, whatever you're having. I'd really like that. Unless you're not. Then don't bother. I really don't want to bother you."

"Orli. Orlando. It's no bother. I'm happy you're here. Really. Come into the kitchen. It's hot enough for a beer, I think, and we can talk."

"Sean," Orlando started, following Sean down a short hallway and into a sun-washed kitchen. "I'll tell you anything. Any question."

Sean opened the fridge and pulled out two icy beers. Orlando didn't recognize the brand, but he didn't much care. He just wanted to sit near Sean, to be with him. He twisted the lid of his and took a deep swallow, wiping his mouth. "Thanks."

Sean raised his bottle to Orlando before drinking deeply. "Shit. I needed that. Sit, sit."

Orlando turned to see a round glass-topped table with three wooden chairs. He sat, wondering what would happen next. "I never thought I'd actually be here. Even when I was flying out, I couldn't imagine this." He gestured at Sean and the room.

"I'm so glad you came. I really wanted to call, but I didn't know your number, and, well, really. I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure."

"Me, neither, Sean." He put a hand over Sean's on the cool glass table. "It's been a dream, a terrible dream. I can't wake up. I had to come to you, though."

Sean turned his hand over and curled his fingers through Orlando's. He nodded, sipping at his beer.

"What do you want to know?" Orlando asked again. "Anything."

"I read the papers. Everything I could find, online and off. And I talked to Hannah and Billy."

Orlando nodded, looking down at their joined hands. "What did they say?"

"That you were happy. That he was happy, right to the end."

"Yeah," Orlando whispered. "He was, Sean." He sniffed, and rubbed at his face. "It was good. Really." He finally looked up at Sean. "That sounds stupid, but he was so _Elijah_, right to the end."

Sean took another sip of beer.

"You should have come," Orlando said quietly. "He wanted you."

"Yeah. Billy told me."

"Why, Sean? Why wouldn't you come? He loved you. Always."

"Jesus, Orlando. Why do I do anything? I'm just a fuck-up. You know that."

"Sean --"

"No, it's true. I mean, look at my life. I'm a fuckin' used car salesman." He peeked at Orlando from over the top of his beer bottle. "Okay, not literally. But I might as well be. And you guys -- man. You had the world. The whole world."

"We didn't have you."

"One more thing to feel guilty about." He finished off the beer. "Time for another?"

"No. No, Seanie."

"Fuck. That's what Elijah used to call me. Definitely time for a beer."

"No, really." Orlando grabbed Sean's wrist and pulled him back into his chair. "Do you know why I'm here?"

"To ream me a new one?"

"Sean." Orlando sat down his own beer, rose, and pushed the table away. Then he slung his long legs over Sean's and gingerly seated himself on his lap.

"Uh, Orlando. Why are you sitting in my lap?"

"Because it makes this easier." He slid his arms around Sean, inhaling his fragrance, remembering Elijah's, and kissed him. Sean jerked back sharply, and pushed at Orlando, but Orlando hung on. I'm tougher than you are, he thought through the kiss. He pressed his lips firmly against Sean's, licking them, mouthing at them, nuzzling as best he could until Sean settled back into his chair. He pressed harder, tilting Sean's head back, and suddenly Sean opened his mouth to him, and they really kissed. Orlando seized Sean by his hair, holding his head in place, and worked at the kiss, giving him everything he had.

When they parted, Sean gasped, "Why? Orli, why?"

"Fuck, you're stupid," Orlando said, and kissed him again. This time Sean participated fully, pushing into Orlando, tugging him closer. Beneath him, he felt Sean's legs relax and fall open, and he ground his arse into Sean's lap, hearing him groan.

"What, what . . . " Sean murmured, before kissing Orlando again. This time Orlando slid his hand between them, down the front of Sean to his waist, and then pressed firmly over his crotch. Sean shuddered beneath him and groaned again, and Orlando felt his prick begin to rise, and his own prick stirred in his trousers.

Then Sean reached behind Orlando, to cup his arse and pull him more firmly to him, grinding their crotches together as he kissed him fiercely, a terrible angry passion that Orlando welcomed. Sean was still a powerful man and his grip was bruisingly hard, but Orlando welcomed it all. They were nearly fighting in the chair, thrusting against each other, the chair legs knocking against the floor as it scooted backwards. "Fuck, fuck," Sean gasped, and Orlando agreed.

He stood abruptly and pulled Sean with him. "Where?" he demanded, and Sean stared at him, his face red, his glasses askew, his lips puffy. Orlando squeezed Sean's balls firmly and watched as he rolled his head back, inhaling mightily.

"Just bend me over the counter," he murmured, but led Orlando to a tidy bedroom with a small double bed neatly made. Orlando began to undress him, running his fingers through Sean's chest hair, pulling open his trousers to reach inside his pants for his hot prick, still stiffening as he watched. He knelt and sucked Sean's prick into his mouth, and Sean shouted.

Just as suddenly, he rose again and pushed Sean backwards onto the bed. He pulled his own clothes off quickly, kicking them out of the way, and then lay on top of Sean, wrapping his long limbs around him, kissing his neck, chin, cheeks, and then his mouth. He paused long enough to toss Sean's glasses aside, untangling the chain from his hair, and then kissed him again.

When Sean came at last, it was with a howl that sounded more like anger than relief to Orlando, but he was deep in his own orgasm, pulled from him fiercely by Sean's firm hand, and then both men were panting, lying twisted together, sweaty and sticky. Sean swallowed, and gasped, "Why? What the fuck was that?"

"That was from Elijah." Sean tried to roll away, but Orlando held him down. "As is this." He kissed Sean again, holding his head between his two hands, an insistent, bullying kiss. "He loved you, you bitch," Orlando told him, staring into Sean's tear-filled eyes. "He loved you. He loved you."

"What do I do?" Sean asked, clutching at Orlando.

"Love me. I'm him now. I have all those years with him. I'm here, Sean. I'm here. I'm Elijah now."

"No, you can't be, I can't --"

"Yes, you can. He told you. I know he did."

"I didn't believe him. I never believed him."

"And now? Now?" He carefully wiped Sean's face, kissing him gently. "Do you believe him? Do you believe me?"

"Aw, Orli." He sniffed again, and rubbed his nose into the bedspread. "I don't know what to believe. I've been so miserable, ever since it happened." He looked up at Orlando, guilt on his face. "Hannah slapped me."

"Well, that's Han for you. I think she's slapped all of us at one time or another. She loved her big brother."

"Yeah. I know."

"What else do you know?"

"Orli, Jesus, give it a rest."

"No fucking way, Astin. Tell me."

"Don't make me say it." His voice broke, and he tried to roll away again, but Orlando was relentless. He'd come too far, gone through too much, he thought, to let Sean get away again.

He kissed Sean as gently as he could in the midst of their struggle, nudging him with his nose. "At least you kept your hair," he murmured, and Sean paused to look up at him. Elijah had always said that Sean was vain about his hair; Orlando saw it was true. "Lovely," he said, and Sean smiled weakly.

"Flattery will get you quite a lot," he said.

"Good, because I want quite a lot. I want you to start at the beginning, and tell me the whole story."

"You obviously know the whole story."

"I think I do. But this is Elijah's legacy. Me, here, with you, in your bed. He gave you to me, or me to you, I don't know which. But here we are. Here we are." Sean closed his eyes for a moment, and then sighed. He nodded. "Tell me," Orlando whispered.

Sean opened his eyes and stared up at Orlando, who nodded encouragingly. At last he said, "I loved Elijah Wood for all my adult life."

"Have you ever said those words before?"

"Not with that meaning."

"Good. Go on."

"What? Nothing else to say. I loved him, in a way I shouldn't have. I was a married man, with children. My wife loved him, my children loved him, but I lusted after him. Oh, God, Orli." He closed his eyes again and shook. "I loved him so fucking much."

"I know, I know you did. But there's one more thing left. Say it, Seanie. It's why Elijah sent me. Say it."

"He loved me," Sean shouted. "He fucking loved me! But he got you, he got you, and I ended up alone, and my kids hate me, and I'm alone and now he's dead and I'll never never have him. Oh, Orli, I'm such a fucking idiot."

"No, no," Orlando soothed him. "You're not. Elijah loved you always, even during the bad years. He never stopped. And look, Sean. Here I am. You got me, but you also got Elijah. Here we are. He's right here. I promise. Right here. Right to the very end."

Sean shook his head, so Orlando kissed him again, as sweetly as he could. "I love you, Sean Astin," he whispered. "And your kids do not hate you. No one does. You're a good man, who tried hard, and made a few mistakes. But it's okay now."

"You're here," Sean said, and Orlando nodded.

"I'm here now. Two for the price of one." He kissed Sean, and smiled down at him. "You do have lovely hair." Sean smiled, releasing a tear to roll back toward his ear. Orlando caught it with his tongue, and kissed the damp trail it had made. "Love you," he whispered again.

"What if I love you, Orli? What will that mean? Who will I be?"

"Just Sean. My Sean. Elijah's Sean. Just Sean."

Sean wiped his face and sighed, sniffing. "I don't know what to do," he murmured.

"Then do what Elijah wanted."

Sean looked at Orlando, his face blurry with tears and exhaustion and grief. Orlando felt tears rise into his own eyes; his grief was still very near, and his heart felt heavy with Elijah's absence. But here was Sean, staring up at him, anxious fearful Sean. Orlando twisted his head to wipe his eyes on his sleeve. When he raised his head again, Sean reached up to stroke Orlando's cheek. "I always loved you, Orlando," he whispered.

Orlando smiled. "I know." Orlando lay his head on Sean's chest, so different from Elijah's where he had rested for all those years. "We always knew."

~ ~ ~

End Times: Last Breath

"I was an ass," Elijah said firmly. Dom didn't disagree. "Really. I know it. And I wanted to tell you."

"You're an arse," Dom agreed, watching the pattern of shadows against the bedroom wall. Outside, a tall cottonwood tree shivered in the light breeze, its leaves sounding like running water on this hot afternoon.

"I was. And I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," Dom said briskly. Maybe if he accepted the apology Elijah would go. That would be nice. Back to listening to the cottonwood tree. A more pleasant way to spend his afternoons he hadn't yet found.

"Can I sit down?"

Dom sighed. He shrugged, and watched from the corner of his eye as Elijah carefully lifted the chair from under the desk and set it next to the bed, facing Dom. "Lovely to see you again," he lied.

"No it isn't. You hate me, or you should. I was such a fucking idiot. Really. Why didn't you kill me?"

"Billy wanted to, but I thought he'd get into too much trouble. Easier just to let you go."

"Billy." That familiar voice saying that familiar name was nearly too much for Dom; he turned his head to watch out the window. Nothing to see but a pale blue sky on a hot summer's day. The room was poorly configured; he knew there were mountains in the distance, but he couldn't see them from his bed. "I was at his funeral --"

"I know. I saw you."

"But you didn't, uh, you didn't talk to me."

Dom shrugged again.

"Because I was an ass."

"Elijah. That was, what, forty years ago? Closer to fifty, yeah? Let it go. You were young. We were all young and dumb. Nothing to apologize for."

"I think there is."

"Then I accept your apology. Let's move on."

"I can't."

"Elijah --"

"It's Billy, isn't it. Always Billy. And I saw that, even before I knew what I was seeing, and --"

"Elijah. Fuck off. If you say his name one more time, I'll fucking suffocate you with this pillow."

Elijah's eyes went rounder and wider than humanly possible, but he shut his gob. Dom nodded, and returned to staring out the window. The tree branches tossed in the wind, and the sound of water shivered through the air. He heard Elijah sigh, and shift in the chair, but he remained silent, to Dom's relief. He was tired of words. Anything Elijah could have said should have been said decades ago.

He dozed for a while, waking with a jerk to find the sun had slid across the sky and the cottonwood tree outside his bedroom window was only a dark blur against a darker sky. He shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his eyes, stretching, and then yawning. When he twisted to his right to turn on the small lamp by his bed, he was startled to find Elijah sitting quietly. He paused, but then flicked on the light and sat back, hands in lap.

Elijah remained silent. He watched as Dom settled down, and shifted again in the wooden chair, but said nothing.

"You're awake," Luis said, coming in quietly. "I was wondering if I should wake you. Hello," he added to Elijah. He gracefully unfolded a table and set down a tray. "Just a few bites," he told Dom. "Milky tea, just the way you like it; porridge with sliced fruit; toast with my mama's strawberry jam."

"Yum," Dom said sarcastically, but his stomach growled. Luis raised his eyebrows but simply poured the tea and moved the folding table closer to the bed.

"Would you like anything?" Luis asked Elijah, who shook his head. He turned back to Dom. "I'll be back to give you your sponge bath."

"Lovely," Dom said through a mouthful of porridge and banana. He waited until Luis left, then gestured toward the toast. "Help yourself. His mum's a good cook."

Elijah silently took a slice of toast and crunched on it. Dom managed half the porridge but all of the fruit, a slice of toast, and almost all of the tea. He saw that Luis was pleased when he came bustling back to carry out the dishes. "Now," Luis said, resting a hand on his cheek. "Maybe your friend wants to visit with Mama for a little while?"

Dom looked at Elijah, who bit his lip and flushed slightly, but remained seated. "Naw. Nothin' he hasn't seen before."

"Well, well, Mister Dom. You do surprise me." He efficiently stripped Dom and bathed him; they'd grown accustomed to each other and Dom knew when to hold still and when to roll onto his side. Luis's touch was firm and comforting; he was the only person who had touched Dom in years and he was a little ashamed of how much pleasure he took in that touch.

When Luis swiped at his genitals, Dom glanced at Elijah, hoping to find him looking. But he was staring at his hands in his lap, still flushed, still silent. When Dom turned away, Luis was smiling at him, then wiped his arsehole firmly. That'll teach me, Dom thought to himself, but this time, when Dom looked up, Elijah was staring at him.

"All righty then," Luis said, helping Dom slip his legs into thin cotton pyjama bottoms. "Fed, clean, and dry. Now your teeth."

"Wait. What about a sip of wine tonight first. And a glass for Elijah."

"Dr. Gonzalez says red wine is good for you, Mr. Dom. You want the French stuff your brother sent you?"

"Yeah, that would be lovely. Lij? Fancy a glass?"

Elijah nodded, and Luis swept out. "You and Mama have a glass, too," Dom called after him. "His mother cooks and cleans for me," he explained to Elijah. "Luis is a nurse. But you probably figured that out."

Elijah nodded, and twisted his hands. Luis was back shortly, though, with their glasses. "Thank you," Dom said, lifting his glass first to Luis and then to Elijah.

"Thank you, and Mama thanks you, too." He turned to Elijah. "When he's ready for bed, you get me, yes? In the kitchen, drinking all Mr. Dom's fancy wines."

Elijah smiled at Luis, a big smile that revealed the gap in his front teeth, and Dom felt an answering smile come unbidden. He'd loved that smile for more years than he could remember, and now here it was, lighting up his bedroom. He'd missed it. He'd missed Elijah, he admitted to himself.

"Come here," he said suddenly, and held out his hand. Elijah took it, and Dom pulled him to the bed, and then right into the bed with him. Elijah knee-walked cautiously, holding his wine glass out and away, and then sank next to Dom, who slid his arm around Elijah's still-slender waist. He held out his glass again, and Elijah clinked them together, a soft chime in warm night air.

Outside, the cottonwood tree trembled and the sound of running water rushed through the room. "Lovely noise, that," Dom murmured. He was tired; he'd done too much. He sipped again at the wine and then handed the glass to Elijah, who set both glasses on the end-table. Dom slid down a bit, leaning his head against Elijah's chest. "Tell Luis I'll brush m'teeth tomorrow," he said, yawning. Elijah wrapped his arms around Dom, and he felt a soft kiss on the top of his head.

"Sorry I yelled at you," Dom said, trying to wake up, but Elijah just kissed him again. He was so tired. "We'll talk in the morning, kay? About how you were an arsehole, and why I'm an idiot to still love you. Love you, Lijah."

His eyes closed. The wind blew more, rattling the tree. The light next to the bed clicked off and Elijah held him tighter. "Love you," he heard Billy say, but that was rubbish. Billy was gone forever and ever, and his love, too. It was Elijah here in his bed, holding him, telling him he was loved. "Love you so much," someone whispered to him.

"Mmhm," he sighed, and fell asleep to the sound of the cottonwood and Elijah's quiet breaths.

~ ~ ~

End Times: Farewell

"Hey," Elijah said, dropping to the grass. "D'ya mind if I smoke? I promise not to blow it your way. No second-hand smoke for you." He drew his lighter from his jeans pocket and flicked it, inhaling gratefully. "Better," he gasped through an exhalation.

He rested one hand behind him and looked up at the sky. "Blue as a robin's egg," he said. "Suppose you'd say blue as my eyes, but I think mine are paler. Blue as a summer's day, remember? You told me that in, uh, well. A long time ago. Never forgot, though."

He collapsed back into the grass; the long leaves tickled his neck, so he slid his free hand under it, to protect his skin, and took another drag. "God, it's a nice day. I'm glad I came.

"Billy would have come, but he had a bad night. He's still pretty torn up. Actually," he confided, rolling onto his stomach to recline on his elbows, "I don't think he'll recover. His heart's gone right out of him."

He smoked in silence for a few minutes, studying the glowing tip of the cigarette, the delicate tendrils of smoke spiraling into the warm air, the growing ash. He smudged out the cigarette into the grass, then slid the butt into his pocket. "I know you don't really like me to smoke," he said, stroking the earth. "You're just good to me."

"Ah, Seanie. So good to me. Han sent flowers, see?" He pulled the bouquet closer. "Tied with a green ribbon. Green's a good color for you." He arranged the flowers carefully, making sure the ribbon trailed gracefully. "There. Nice. Dom wouldn't approve, of course, of cut flowers. He was always planting stuff; that's why it's so nice here. I think it's partly why Billy doesn't want to come. Almost as much Dom here as you."

He lay back down, still on his stomach, folding his hands and resting his chin on them. "Patricia sends her love. She left last night. I wanted to drive her to the airport, but she knows I don't see too well at night anymore, so she took the shuttle. Jesus, but it never gets any easier saying good-bye, you know? I think I embarrassed her boyfriend cos I cried a little. But he's a good guy. You'd like him, I know. Billy and I showed 'em _Rudy_, and she wanted to know all about her grandpa. I'm sorry I didn't know you then. You were so beautiful.

"So they're gone and the house is empty again. I talked to her mom last night; Lizzie sends her love, too. She's coming out in June for a while. You know she divorced Joe, right? But we're still in touch. He's a nice guy. He's still family. I know that's important to you. He stopped by a while ago, heading to New York for a conference.

"Remember New York? Setting up my apartment there? But I was so lonely. I couldn't stay away. Missed everybody so much. Cool that we all ended up living in the same place."

He sighed and sat up, stretching. "I gotta go, buddy. I don't like to leave Billy alone for too long these days. But I wanted to bring you the flowers, and to let you know about Patricia and all." He reached out and stroked the cool granite headstone sunk into the ground. "I miss you, bro," he said softly. "Friends for life, yeah? And a little bit longer."

He awkwardly climbed to his feet, shaking out one leg, then the other. "I'll be back," he promised. "Love you." He stared at the grave beneath his feet. "I'll always love you," he said, and then walked to the waiting car.

~ ~ ~

End Times: The Fellowship of the Ring

Billy still felt shy about holding Dom's hand in public, but they were strolling along an isolated portion of the river. He could hear only the splash of the current against the rocks where the river turned to head south. The sunlight flashed into his eyes, so he raised a hand to block the light. "Okay, Bill?" Dom asked him, and he turned away from the glare to smile into Dom's sun-splashed face.

"Better'n okay," he said, and bravely took Dom's hand. Dom smiled back, and squeezed his fingers.

They walked on, stepping cautiously on the grassy bank. Billy sniffed the air: sweet and fresh, like the first morning of the world. He turned to look up at Dom, who pulled them to a stop, bent his head, and kissed him.

"Woo-hoo!" Richard called. "Kissy-kissy! That's near Auckland, isn't it? The Okura River? I've been there."

"Oh, shut it," Esther said. "How'd you do that, Kia?"

"Isn't it cool? Those old movies you found in great-great-great-whatever-great-Uncle Elijah's stuff? I three-digitized them, overlayed them, and bob's yer uncle."

"Did you invent this?"

"Naw, just tweaked it a bit. Sean knows."

He looked up from where he was playing with his grandson. "I do know. I saw the original Kia started with. Brilliant work, dar."

She beamed at him. "Wait. You haven't seen this bit." She snapped her fingers at the display and it flickered into three-dimensional existence again.

Between Kia and Richard, Dom jumped into the river, shouting at the chill. He stretched his arms back to Billy, smiling mischievously up at him. "Come on in, love," he coaxed. "Water's fine."

"Bloody liar," Billy said, but he was smiling, too. "Get out of there; you'll catch your death."

"Naw, come on," he said, reaching up to take one of Billy's hands. "Come on," he whispered.

Billy took both of Dom's hands and leaned forward, over the bank, putting his face near Dom's. For a long moment they stared at each other, and then Dom sloshed closer and they kissed. The water in the stream roared louder, and Billy stepped down into it, pressing against Dom. Then the point-of-view swung around one-eighty degrees, staying focused on the embracing men as the water splashed around them but revealing the sun-filled meadow they'd walked through.

"How the hell you'd do that?" Richard asked.

"If he's impressed, that's something," Esther said. "But how _did_ you do that?"

Kia shrugged, but couldn't help her smile. "That's the tweaking I did. I call it padding; just extrapolating from what's there."

"Grampa?" Hamish asked, staring into the frozen image.

"Those are my grampas," Sean told him. "They're your, what, great-great-great?" He looked at Esther. "We're all related, but I'm not sure how."

She shrugged. "Matthias?" she called. "Uncle Sean wants to know how Hamish is related to Dom and Billy."

Matthias came in from the kitchen, an apron tied around his waist. "I'm taking stories," he said. "One of the reasons for this whanau is to take your stories before you all get old and die."

"Kia ora!" everyone shouted, and even Matthias smiled.

"Yeah, ah, well." He unfurled his tablet and touched it; the glowing whakapapa floated before him. "So, who? Them? Here." He leaned forward to show Sean. "Here they are, way up here. Here's Dominic's daughter, Patricia. Her second husband was Billy's son, Patrick."

"Patrick married Patricia? That's weird," Kia said.

Matthias said, "They kept naming their kids after each other. Patrick was both Dominic's and Sean's middle name."

"Not my middle name," Sean said, but Matthias just lifted an eyebrow.

"No, not yours. They had two daughters, Hannah and Susannah --"

"Great-Auntie hated that. She said it was too cute," Esther remembered.

"Well, their parents were named Patrick and Patricia; what else could she expect?" Kia pointed out.

"And Susannah married Henry Makoare and now here's our Sean," Mattias continued. "And he married Teddy Astin Greenstone, and they had Bette and she had Hamish." Matthias leaned further over to kiss Hamish's nose, and they both giggled.

"Where is Bette?" Sean wondered, staring at the glowing display. "Where's mum?" he asked Hamish.

"Mumma," Hamish said, and sucked his thumb.

"He's teething," Bette called from the doorway. "Mattie, we need you back in the kitchen, please."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Wait," Sean said, grabbing Matthias' arm. "You need our stories?"

"Yeah, this week I'm going to meet with all of you, to get your stories. Who you remember best, who you're curious about. Hyperlink it all together."

"I'm going to illustrate," Kia said, still staring at Dom and Billy in the stream.

"How do you make the water move even though they're not?" Esther asked, picking up Hamish and wiping his sticky mouth.

"More fill -- it's kind of on a loop. I can pick out strings I want to work with and leave the rest alone."

"It's brilliant," she said, and leaned through Dom to kiss Kia. "I'm very proud of you carrying on your great-great-grandda's tradition."

"Who's that?" Richard asked, standing to stretch.

"The guy who did the movies."

"Oh. The Movies. As if there were no others."

"Well, are there?"

"Are we going to watch them?" Bette asked. "Come on, Mattie."

"Yeah, after tea," Kia said. "I've been working with them, too. They're beautiful things."

"Oh, honey, you haven't touched the movies now," Esther worried.

"Not to worry; it's good stuff. Don't complain until you've seen what I've done."

Matthias said over his shoulder before disappearing back into the kitchen, "It's done with aroha, Esther. It's our tanga."

She snorted. "Misuse of the word!" she called, but the door had already swung shut.

She turned to stare again at the luminescent image of the two men, standing in sunlight nearly a hundred years old while a stream that had long since splashed into the sea foamed around them. "They were beautiful," she said. "That's the story for Mattie."

"A great romance," Kia agreed, crossing her arms to study her work. "I'm glad they're here, at the marae," she murmured.

"They're home here," Sean said. "I remember them, you know. Not that they looked like that. But I remember them."

Matthias put his head out the door again. "Stories later," he scolded. "Not when I'm tying up a hundred quail, eh?"

"Lots of stories," Sean promised him, tugging at the sock on Hamish's tiny foot. "So this little guy will know who they are, too. And love them."

"I wish I'd met my Billy, like Dom met his," Esther said. Sean rose and put his arms around her.

"Not many Billies in the world, dar," he told her, and Kia nodded.

"Nor many Doms," she said, and knelt to shut off the image.

"Bye," Hamish said around his thumb. "Bye, Grampas."

* * *

Posted June 1, 2007

**Author's Note:**

> Notes for End Times: Long Silence
> 
>  
> 
> John tends to quote a lot in his interviews, so I've relied on that for his dialog here. He quotes from Thomas a Kempis' [Imitation of Christ](http://www.bartleby.com/7/2/123.html), from [Aeschylus' Agamemnon](http://records.viu.ca/~johnstoi/aeschylus/aeschylus_agamemnon.htm), and of course from Dylan Thomas' [Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night.](http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15377) John's final lines are from Rupert Brooke's [The Great Lover](http://www.bartleby.com/103/147.html).


End file.
